


No Trade

by Telsiree



Series: Reality Check [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Background Relationships, Blindfolds, Crests (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Cute Kids, F/F, F/M, Feels, Feudalism, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Government, Infertility, Kings & Queens, Loving Marriage, M/M, Marriage, Mild Smut, My First Smut, Not A Fix-It, Patriarchy, Plot Twists, Politics, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Sexual Politics, Shout-outs, Tragedy, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, dimitri is dumbo, marianne is the true ruler of fodlan, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24054868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telsiree/pseuds/Telsiree
Summary: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd marries Marianne von Edmund in Imperial Year 1187.That should be happily ever after, right?
Relationships: Catherine/Shamir Nevrand, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Marianne von Edmund, My Unit | Byleth/Leonie Pinelli
Series: Reality Check [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735369
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	No Trade

**Author's Note:**

> My inaugural smut fic! And I tried to write smut and...failed. I'm old school, I guess. Or maybe it's my anatomy classes creeping up on me. I just can't use clinical terms for sex. I also tried to not use vulgar terms. I like innuendo much more than the explicit. Leaves more to the imagination.
> 
> Plus Dimi/Marie is just too pure for that, and I guess I wanted to convey that. Their love is holy.
> 
> Anyway, this is my first part in a series/collection/challenge. Reality Check. Sometimes you're so happy, but nothing lasts forever. I just got done with a divorce, and that plus pandemic is sending my brain into dark places. Don't worry about me. Writing is my therapy.

No Trade

Their wedding is perfect.

In the spring of Imperial Year 1187, 25th of Great Tree Moon, Dimitri Alexandre Blaidydd and Marianne von Edmund were wed with much celebration and cheering by the smiling Archbishop of Fodlan in the Lion’s Palace of Fhirdiad.

Duke Felix is there, of course, grumpy and scornful as ever except for the hint of a smile tugging his lips. The Gautier heir, Sylvain, is ecstatic (and already a little drunk) and almost bowls both bride and groom over with his congratulatory hug. Lady Ingrid and Lord Ignatz are smiling and clapping politely, although Ingrid’s husband has a sketchpad out, attempting to hastily sketch scenes and poses of the event. The reinstated Baron Gustav and his wife Baroness Clarice, along with the newly named Professor Annette, are there, and Dimitri spies Dedue and Knight Raphael in the distance, in charge of the security detail for the event and the dignitaries, both smiling widely. Grand Duke Lorenz and Duchess Hilda are in attendance, with the Duchess cheering wildly to the discomfort of her husband, as well as Grand Duke Ferdinand and Duchess Dorothea, both of them smiling as sincerely and brightly as the many jewels on their outfits.

There are gifts from those who cannot attend the magnificent event, the grandest celebration since the end of the war. Lord Ashe Gaspard sent his regrets as he is managing unrest in his territories, along with a commissioned storybook of Dimitri and Marianne’s tale of love. There are elaborate gifts from the Queen of Brigid, and astonishingly enough, the King of Almyra. There are cautious and diplomatic well-wishes from Sreng and Dagda, wary of the mighty new Kingdom on their doorstep. Mercedes sends her love from her orphanage in Gideon territory and small notes and tokens of affection, each one intimate and personal. Countess Nuvelle sends a riotous and somewhat gaudy floral arrangement that she claims is enchanted to never wilt.

The reception that follows is overwhelming and exquisite, and Dimitri and Marianne can only share small smiles and secret glances with each other as they are seemingly whisked apart by their friends and peers, whisked together again for small meals they can barely touch and dances that past by too soon, then whisked apart again by relations and friends giving their hearty and repeated congratulations. Marianne herself has to help Dimitri when he is pinned to the wall by her father, the Margrave Edmund, who is eager to discuss favorable trading investments with his son-in-law the King. Dimitri finds Marianne later that evening cornered by Duchess Dorothea and Duchess Hilda, and retrieves his brightly blushing wife from their overly solicitous “advice.”

There are rituals and ceremonies and blessings, such as the bouquet toss which is caught by Annette, and the garter toss which Dimitri winds up and throws directly and deliberately at Felix’s blushing scowl. Laughter and merriment and food and wine abound, after so many painful years of bitter war.

It is quite late and the moon is high when the King and his Queen are allowed to finally retire, the noisy, lusty cheers of Sylvain and Dorothea following them. They retire to the King’s bedroom, the hearth and candelabras already lit by cautious servants where they change clothes and talk late in the night, laughing and trading stories and experiences of the intense event they just shared. Dimitri and Marianne are both supremely grateful to whatever thoughtful soul set out a tray of food from the banquet and a carafe of wine in their room, as they had barely had an opportunity to eat or drink during their entire wedding. Sharing bites on the couch before the fire and feeding each other with smiles and giggles, the hours and stress and excitement suddenly catch up with them. Soon Marianne is nestled in the crook of Dimitri’s broad shoulder as he unfolds a nearby fur and drapes it over both of them, sharing their warmth and love.

Marianne brings it up first, even though she’s clearly exhausted. “I suppose we could try making love…?” she mumbles, raising up slightly on an elbow to look at him. She looks radiant in the embers of the fire, and she leans down to slowly--and sensually--kiss his lips.

Dimitri kisses her back for a long moment, a kiss that turns into a yawn. They snigger again together and he says, “If you prefer, but I’d rather be awake for the experience, beloved. Let us wait and make it as memorable as today. For now we have all the time in the world.”

Marianne smiles back gently before laying her head back on his chest, snuggling tightly against him. “That’s right. We do.”

* * *

Their lovemaking was glorious the next day, and for many days after that.

* * *

The days and months and years passed, and the United Kingdom of Fodlan, with its seperate Grand Duchies of Faerghus, Adrestia, and Leceister, eventually took shape. A congress of Lords and a council of burghers was established within the secondary capital of Arianrhod, much to the relief of the southern Adrestians and the muted grumblings of the former Leicester Lords. The Reformed Church of Seiros called for a conclave of Priests and Cardinals (those that had survived the war and the purges by the former Adrestian Empire) to reaffirm, and in some cases, delicately rewrite the faith and issue proclamations concerning the Saints and Crests from the Archbishop.

King Dimitri was soon hagridden with the worries and burdens of rulership, but his wife Queen Marianne stepped forward and assisted him in ways he couldn’t have anticipated and definitely not imagined. She confidently took charge of Small Council meetings when he was away on state visits, advocated tirelessly for the sick and the poor and the persecuted, and effortlessly managed diplomatic affairs and social functions with grace and aplomb. Gone was the shy, timid soul of their schooldays. The fires of war and the joy of love had tempered her with a serene confidence and tireless energy to rebuild as much as possible from those terrible years of death and destruction. She was constantly writing letters to her father, Hilda, Dorothea, and other nobles, giving Dimitri insights and information that prove to be invaluable in ensuring peace between rival territories and militant, mulish noble Houses still hide-bound by tradition. Many nobles complimented him (as if he deserved the praise) for his wife’s empathy and eloquence.

Marianne and Dimitri were often forced apart by their duties, but when together, they only had eyes for one another, filled with promise. It was a source of embarrassment for Felix, amusement for Sylvain and Ingrid, and fond exasperation from Gustav and Dedue. As their relationship matured and they grew more confident through their first years, they grew more daring in their escapades, adding depth and spice to relieve their stress and brighten their lives.

One day Dedue knocked on Dimitri’s official study. “Your Majesty?”

A short pause and rustle, but Dimitri announces, “Yes, come in, Dedue.”

His loyal vassal and Captain of the Guard lumbers through the doorway, tall and broad and impassively scarred as always. Dimitri is shuffling through the numerous papers on his desk, a wide maghony monster of woodcraft that was as imposing as the tall thronelike chair where Dimitri was seated.

“I have brought my recommended list of battalion instructors you desired,” Dedue said.

“Ah, yes...please...set it aside on the map table, please. As you can see,” --the King shuffled more papers, seemingly at random-- “I am at quite a loss at organizing my desk, here…”

Setting the lengthy list on the map table, Dedue eyed his King and asked, “Does Your Majesty require any assistance?”

“No!” Dimitri almost yelped, raising a hand. “No, everything is fine, I just...need a moment.”

Dedue examined his friend and Lord more critically and said, “I believe Your Majesty is unwell. You appear flushed. Should I call for a healer?”

“Flushed?” Dimitri laid a palm to his head, then let out what sounded like a grunting cough. “Y-yes, perhaps I am...overworked. I think I merely need a bowl of your excellent spiced broth from the kitchens. Ah-a large one, please.”

“At once, Your Majesty!” said Dedue, now faintly alarmed. In his haste he forgot to bow to his liege, and as he shut the door to the study, he heard Dimitri raise his voice in what sounded like a loud sneeze. He hurried to the palace kitchens.

Back in the study, Dimitri was panting and leaning back in his chair as if he just finished a battle. When he had recovered, he leaned down to look beneath the desk.

Queen Marianne of Fodlan wiped her wet mouth, smiling up at him as she slowly relaced his trousers. “Broth?” she asked from under the desk with an impish smile. “I hope yours is delicious. I know mine was.”

“Witch,” the King said in fond affection, still trying to compose himself and his breathing. “You will be the death of me.”

* * *

Dimitri spent the next month between state functions plotting an elaborate--and exciting--revenge. He wanted to catch Marianne off guard, when they both were together and could relieve months of tension between the two of them. It was Imperial Year 1189.

It was late at night during the Harpstring Moon, and the King and Queen had just finished an exhausting state dinner with the Almyran Ambassador. The man was perversely irritating and condescending, with an oily, loquacious smile and brown eyes that sparkled with smug superiority, but he was pleased to hear Dimitri’s pledge to examine the possibility of a permanent foreign embassy in Derdriu. As if their agreement was a fait accompli, the Ambassador instantly suggested that the abandoned Riegan Ducal Mansion might be a suitable location from which the Almyras might use as their base of operations; after all, he pointed out slyly, there was no one there currently using it.

Wanting to be done with the innuendos and false flattery and simply have the evening be over (it was almost the midnight hour), King Dimitri finally agreed and announced it was time for the King and Queen to retire. They waited for the triumphant Ambassador and his entourage to leave, and then Dimitri almost ran with his wife back to their bedroom.

As soon as they were through the door, and the attending maid and valet were safely dismissed, Dimitri and Marianne immediately ditched their crowns on a nearby table and kissed deeply.

“Finally,” Dimitri muttered through their lips together. “I thought he would let us never leave.”

Marianne leaned back in his embrace. “I thought it went really well,” she protested. “Although you may have given the impression you’re too easily led by the nose. You should have made him work harder for an agreement. They’re still here for the next week.”

“I can always send a runner to the guest quarters to tell him I’ve changed my mind after consulting with my wife, the true ruler of all of Fodlan.”

She laughed and after a quick peck on his nose, moved to sit at her vanity. “Please do. His superior will find that amusing.”

“Who’s that?”

“The Almyran King.”

“The Almyran King? Do you know something about him that I do not?” Dimtiri said as he struggled with the ridiculous buttons on his formal dinner jacket.

A pause, and he looked up to see Marianne looking at him from her mirror, as if speculatively reassessing his intelligence. Then a small secretive smile. “I might. Perhaps if you’re lucky, I’ll even tell you someday.”

Dimitri raised his brows. “And now you’re withholding state secrets from me? I really am just a figurehead, aren’t I?”

She giggled at him as she removed an earring. “I’m sorry. Hilda swore me to secrecy. It’s only a guess on our part, so we don’t know for sure. But let’s simply say if you ever do visit that embassy in Deidriu, you might be in for a bit of a surprise.”

A sneaking suspicion started to creep within Dimitri’s mind, but he focused more on the night he had planned. He had carefully set up earlier in the afternoon while Marianne was dressing for the dinner.

He was too excited to carefully hang away his clothing, and shed it to the floor carelessly. He would make it up to the servants later with small raises in pay. Nearly naked in his smallclothes, he said with a carefully disingenuous glance, “Ahem. So. Does my beautiful wife have any plans tonight?”

Marianne deliberately ignored him as she removed all traces of make-up. “The usual. I was going to lie awake all night listening to my husband snore. Pray to the Goddess for forgiveness for whatever sin I have done to deserve that.”

“I do not--”

Turning from her mirror in mid-wipe, Marianne carefully regarded him.

Dimitri looked away with a cough and said, “Perhaps...a bath together beforehand?”

The Queen’s eyes brightened. “That sounds lovely. Although you might want to stay here while I have the maids draw it in my bedchambers. They work more slowly when they see you’re strutting around in the King’s new robes.”

“Jealous?” he teased.

“Always.”

Blushing, Dimitri obligingly hid himself away in his small personal study while Marianne rang for servants to draw a bath in the Queen’s apartment, just adjoining the King’s. Though it was late, the task was done quickly and efficiently, and soon Marianne led Dimitri into the Queen’s bathroom, where an exquisite copper tub large enough for two awaited them, filled with steaming water. They quickly shed their undergarments, pausing to embrace once more, enjoying the delicate touches of their bare skin against each other after hours of being restricted in tight-fitting garments. 

As they were about to enter, Dimitri handed Marianne a towel. “Just one thing. Don’t wash your hair now. It will take too long to dry, and might be uncomfortable later.”

More intrigued now, Marianne allowed the request to pass without comment. She quickly tied up her hair to protect it.

They both sighed as they entered the tub, their knotted muscles relaxing with the aid of the warm water. Slow, wet kisses were exchanged as their mutual washing quickly turned an intimate embrace, with Marianne arching her back into Dimitri’s chest. Soon all pretense of cleaning was abandoned as she twisted her slim hips and bottom against his leg, her head leaning back to allow Dimitri to rain kisses to her mouth and neck as she moaned quietly. Dimitri’s broad hands were not idle, gently tweaking and rubbing her breasts and between her legs as Marianne stroked him slowly beneath the water.

His practiced ministrations bore fruit as Marianne tossed her head back against his shoulder, gasping and writhing as she worked her hips into his hand, unable to do much in response except to squeeze him in her hand. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Are you close?”

“Mmhmm,” she nodded, her eyes closed and her lips parted slightly.

“Good. Let’s get out and dry off. It’s time for the next part.”

Marianne groaned in frustration when he removed his hands, punctuated by one last pleading jerk from her pelvis, but obliged to get up from him and out of the water. She missed the contact already but the anticipation of something more to follow kept her going.

They toweled each other off slowly and carefully, still kissing and touching each other intimately to keep the energy of the evening charged between them. Then Dimitri took charge, leading Marianne back to the King’s bedchambers. Once there, he reached into a nearby drawer and displayed the item to his wife.

Marianne giggled at it. “A blindfold?”

“Only with your permission, love.”

“I’ve heard about them,” said the Queen, pressing her naked body against him. “You’ve clearly put a lot of thought into this,” she whispered, leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss him, opening his mouth with her tongue, stroking him slowly all the while. When they at last parted, the breath hot on each other’s face, Marianne gave one more loving smile before turning her back. “Put it on,” she whispered.

Pleased that Marianne was becoming excited at the prospect, Dimitri kissed her shoulders and neck as he wrapped the blindfold gently across her eyes, finishing with a loose knot. Slowly turning her around, he cautiously kissed her and touched her, feeling her excited wetness between his fingers. She hummed in approval as she ran her small hands over his arms and chest, before clumsily drifting down between his legs, and could not help let out an involuntary groan of pleasure himself.

“I’m not getting any sleep tonight, am I?” she whispered as she trembled in his arms.

He chuckled in response. “At least you won’t have to listen to me snore.” With effortless strength, he scooped her up with his hands, and she wrapped herself around him as she slowly settled on his member. Both of them shivered and moaned softly as she settled around him, his hands still firmly gripping her ass.

Dimitri gasped as he felt his wife grind her body against his. “Take me, Dimitri,” she whispered as she trembled.

He did.

The King and Queen of Fodlan were indisposed for the next two days.

* * *

It was the 20th of the Ethereal Moon, Imperial Year 1192. It was the King of Fodlan’s 30th birthday.

Dimitri felt a little ashamed at the lavish attention and gifts being heaped upon them, here at Rowe Hall in Arianrhod. Marianne’s birthday the month earlier had been a far more modest affair, attended by only Duchess Hilda, Duke Felix and Duchess Annette, Margrave Sylvain and his new wife (a Sreng Princess, of all things), and her father, Margrave Edmund, along with Dedue and his wife Katala. The presents had been smaller, the setting and food less lavish, the atmosphere more muted, all despite his orders to the contrary. There was something odd in the air, giving him a vague sense of unease about the entire series of events.

This celebration was much more different, almost manic in its energy and excitement. Dimitri smiled pleasantly and warmly to all well-wishers ceremoniously with his Queen by his side, with countless Lords and burghers and merchants offering gift after gift, much of which would be donated back to the Poor Fund. The party continued later privately with the highest Lords of the Kingdom, and Marianne smiled at him apologetically when Hilda excitedly wanted to show the Queen her new son, a pudgy pink toddler with his fist in his mouth. Dimitri would have excused himself and followed, but a pair of laughing blonde haired children ran past screaming at that moment, chased by scowling four year old with red hair with Duchess Annette in pursuit.

Sighing mentally as he was abandoned by his wife, he tried to smile and look interested when Duke Lorenz launched into a list of proposals and complaints of which Dimitri was already well aware. Fortunately, Dimitri was rescued by Archbishop Byleth asking Lorenz about the progress of the Eastern Church reforms. Looking for Marianne in the crowded hall, Dimitri was soon talking distractedly with Duke Ferdinand and Duchess Dorothea, when he gained a flash of insight when he spied the two orange haired little twin girls that stared up at him with huge green eyes from behind Dorothea’s plush brocaded dress.

Children.

Their friends were having children.

And he and Marianne...were not.

The unease in his stomach deepened as the two girls, Hope and Charity von Aegir, were introduced to him. He tried to smile as gently as possible and squat down to their eye level so he did not appear threatening, as the little girls shyly asked questions about his eyepatch and if he really was the King. It was beyond endearing as he answered their questions and held their shy little hands. A poignant pang went through his heart as he wondered when the Goddess would finally bless him and his beloved Marianne with a child.

“Oh, here they come, Dimitri,” said Dorothea, shooing the girls back as he stood curiously. “You still haven’t been reintroduced.”

“Reintroduced? To whom?” he said bemusedly as he stood back up.

“The Archbishop’s new fiancée,” Ferdinand distractedly informed him, trying to herd his wayward daughters together with both hands.

“What?” he spluttered. “When did this happen? Surely I would have been informed?”

“It was a surprise to me as well,” said Byleth in their understated manner as they joined them, a well-remembered figure in the gleaming armor of a Knight of Seiros by their side.

“Heya, Dimitri!” grinned Leonie as she crushed him in a hug. “Happy birthday! Long time no see!”

“Leonie!” he said happily, returning the hug through her armor. “How wonderful a surprise! I thought you had travelled abroad on the life of a mercenary?”

A brief scowl crossed Leonie’s features. “Yeah, except you guys are _too_ good at keeping the peace and all this diplomacy stuff. I couldn’t keep my company together just by hunting the occasional monster. So I came back to Fodlan and when I heard this big doofus…” she familiarly squeezed the Archbishop’s arm through their religious regalia, “still didn’t have a bodyguard, I...well, um…” she said, her ears turning pink.

“Offered your services?” said Dorothea cheerily.

“Something like that,” said Byleth with a rare smile as Leonie’s ears turned crimson. “I realized I had let her go too easily six years ago. I wasn’t going to waste my second chance.”

“Damned right,” muttered Leonie, clutching Byleth’s arm again possessively.

Marianne and Hilda with her son on her hip rejoined them just then, but Dorothea wanted to see the ring and a bashful Leonie displayed it for everyone to compliment on. Someone used the distraction to rudely tap him on the shoulder. Dimitri turned and was nearly tackled in another strong sweeping hug by an unexpected figure.

“There’s my little boy Prince! All grown up now!” crowed Thunder Catherine, still impressively strong with Thunderbrand glowing brightly on her back. Catherine had changed a bit over the years, with her blonde mane turning whiter, more scars on her face, and crow’s feet at her eyes.

“Cass--? I mean Catherine! What are you doing here? When did you get here?” Dimitri wheezed, his feet nearly leaving the ground. There were few people who could bearhug him into submission, but Catherine was one of them.

“Just arrived this afternoon,” said Shamir behind her partner in her monotone alto. Shamir had changed little, her purple hair still shining with only her face slightly more chiseled and weathered. She gave a slight wave to the ruler of all Fodlan. “Congratulations on reaching this far.”

Catherine released him and stepped back with her hands on his shoulders as he regained his wind. “When we heard Leonie was packing it in, and talked about it...over and over again, but we ultimately decided to follow her. She’s not kidding when she says it’s too peaceful these days. Shamir and I came back to find more steady sources of income.”

“I am sure I could find something official for the two of you,” offered Dimitri instantly, delighted at their return. “Or perhaps the Archbishop would like to have you back on as instructors…”

“We’ve already had teaching jobs. Since we’re more experienced now, we’re looking for something a little more...rewarding,” said Shamir flatly.

“Shammy!” Catherine groaned, lightly smacking her partner’s shoulder.

“What? We’re not getting any younger, Cath. If you want to settle down you need to be serious about it.”

“You could say that again. Look at this party, and all the kids we taught back at the Academy, having kids. Weird as hell,” Catherine said with a shake of her head, before turning back to Dimitri with a twinkle. “Hey Dimitri! When are you and Marianne going to have a bun in the oven?”

Dimitri flushed. Then flushed again as he strove to find words through a suddenly dry mouth.

“We’re trying,” he said lamely after the silence had stretched a moment.

Catherine wasn’t about to let it go. “Trying?” she blinked. “What the hell does that mean? You’ve been married for what, six years?”

“Five,” muttered Dimitri, clearly uncomfortable. “Our sixth wedding anniversary is next spring.”

“Then what’s the problem? You either do it or you--”

“Oh look, Cath, an open bar,” said Shamir, grabbing her partner’s elbow and already moving her past Dimitri. “Let’s get a drink. Hello, Archbishop.”

Dimitri glanced behind him and saw the Archbishop of Fodlan, and his most trusted friend, standing close and staring at him disconcertingly with those emerald green eyes. Dimitri withered like a schoolboy under his old Professor’s steady regard and wondered how much they had heard.

“Archbishop--” he began.

“We need to talk,” said Byleth in a tone that brooked no argument. “Let’s find somewhere private.”

Ducking out of one’s own state birthday party was difficult, but the Archbishop could be quite intimidating when necessary. Now was apparently one of those times as they exited the wide chamber, with the Archbishop and King parting the crowd like a ship at sea. Dimitri scanned with his eye until he saw Marianne in quiet discussion with Dorothea, Hilda, and Ingrid, surrounded by the other women’s numerous children. Leonie was having a loud reunion with Catherine and Shamir at the bar, along with a cackling Sylvain and decently pleasant Felix.

Rowe Hall was still somewhat unfamiliar for both of them, so Byleth simply dragged him from the ballroom to the closest door they could find. It was a linen closet, but with room enough for both of them to stand. Guiding Dimitri inside, the Archbishop unbuckled the Sword of the Creator from their belt and placed it on the outside knob as they closed the door behind them.

“Why--?” said Dimitri.

“It’s a good ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign, I believe,” said Byelth with their deadpan humor. Dimitri chuckled weakly but soon turned somber, believing he knew the forthcoming discussion.

“Archbishop, I--”

“No titles, Dimitri. I’m here as a friend. Nothing official.”

“Thank you for that,” he nodded weakly but was unable to say more.

Byleth’s serpent green eyes softened at him and they sighed, finally showing discomfort themselves. “Have you and Marianne discussed it?”

Dimitri shut his eye. What did one say to that? Of course they had imagined their future children. In the giddy, early days of their marriage, it was practically all they had talked about in their short amounts of free time. They had even renovated the Royal nursery, left over from Dimitri’s own childhood, in their excitement. The dust covers had been covering the chairs and crib and changing table in the locked room for the past three years now.

“Yes. We have,” he said in a strained voice.

Byleth frowned. “I’m not an expert. But I’m pretty sure you aren’t either. And while I know Marianne is one of the most powerful Faith healers on this continent...maybe it’s time to get help.”

Dimitri stubbornly shook his head. “We just need more time…”

“...but you’re running out of it,” interrupted Byleth. “Marianne’s a month older than you, Dimitri. She’s thirty as well.”

His blue eye flashed in anger. “We’re well aware, Professor,” he said frostily.

“Then get _help_ ,” repeated the Archbishop firmly. “I know you like to do things on your own, Dimitri. I know you want to keep this intimate matter private between you and Marianne. But asking for help...reaching out your hand...is not a sign of weakness.”

To prove their point, the Archbishop of Fodlan held out their hand--battle scarred and calloused, even in peacetime--to the King of Fodlan.

Dimitri reached out and clasped it, as he did six years ago.

“Thank you,” he managed.

Byleth shook their head. “Don’t thank me. Just reach out your hand. Find experts and solutions. Talk about it with Marianne, as I’m sure the others are doing with her right now. If we have to, Felix, Lorenz and Ferdinand will step up with governance if the two of you need it.”

“But who can we trust--? If word gets out that the King and Queen cannot conceive...then…”

“Manuela, I’m certain. Perhaps Linhardt can consult as well, if we can ever track down him and Caspar. And I’ll set a few of my people to the library at Garreg Mach and remind them of their Holy Vows of silence and obedience. But there’s already gossip, Dimitri. I’ve heard it firsthand. We need to act.”

Dimitri hesitated again. “I don’t want this to become a public issue. I won’t see Marianne shamed.”

Byleth smiled in sudden grim humor. “Or yourself, Oh Mighty Savior King?”

“What?!”

“Just that the problem might not lie with her, Dimitri. Did it ever occur to you it might lie with you? With all the stress and injuries you’ve sustained since the Tragedy?”

Dimitri’s mouth hung wide open in consternation. It was plain he had not even thought about that.

* * *

They would have rode back to Fhirdiad by the next week, after using the grand gathering as an opportunity to conduct some governing business for the fledgling United Kingdom, but a sudden blizzard moving across northern Faerghus had blocked the roads to the old Kingdom capital. Dimitri stood gazing out the window at the swirling white in the most opulent quarters of Rowe House, while Marianne sat at a desk consulting a large book while writing something out in what looked to be a calendar journal. He thought he knew what it was.

Dimitri struggled to keep his thoughts from turning dark, from the old whispers in his mind to come creeping back. Marianne’s loving understanding for him had kept them at bay for nearly six years, ever since they had had the chance to admit their true feelings for one another after the fall of Enbarr. There was no need for courtship; they already knew or had shown their worst selves to one another, so anything afterwards could only be an improvement for both of them. But the thought that there might be no children from their union….

“Dimitri?”

“Yes, dear?” he instantly replied.

Marianne was looking at him in concern. “You’re not...feeling bad, are you?”

His chuckle was rueful as he bowed his blonde head. “I’m that easy to read?”

She smiled gently. “You always have been.” Patting the chair next to her, she said, “Please sit, and we’ll talk.”

He struggled not to sigh and act like a petulant child. He was afraid of this subject, in a way no battle had ever made him. Moving to the indicated chair, he reluctantly lowered his rangy frame into it.

Marianne lifted the calendar for him to inspect. “Do you know what this is?”

After peering at it, he hazarded, “A history of your courses?”

Her slate grey eyes widened slightly. “So someone’s been talking to you too.”

“Yes,” he admitted, rubbing his neck. “The Professor approached me at the party. They said to get help from Manuela and other healers. Or Linhardt.”

Laughing out loud at the last, Marianne finally managed, “Oh my. Professor Manuela possibly can help, but I doubt Linhardt knows a thing about this subject.”

Dimitri shook his head. “It wasn’t that I think. I believe it was in case there might be complications due to...Crests.”

Marianne’s face fell. “I see.” She looked down. “I...didn’t even consider that possibility.”

Wanting to change the topic, he added, “The Professor also said that I should be checked as well.”

She shook her head in the negative immediately. “Oh no. You’re not infertile.”

He blinked. “How are you so sure?”

Marianne started to blush. “I’m your wife. I would know.”

“And again, I ask how--?”

“But I also wanted to say to you,” she interrupted firmly, still flushed but clearly wanting to control the conversation. “That it shouldn’t matter, Dimitri. Whatever happens to us is the Goddess’ Will. Even if we have no children. It will be fine. We’ll be fine.”

Dimitri physically recoiled, almost rocking off the chair. “How can you say that?” he gasped.

“Because we’re building something new,” she appealed to him. “A new system. A new government. Who should care if we don’t have children? That’s our own burden from the Goddess to bear. But for Fodlan itself, we can select our own heirs when the time is right.”

Dimitri winced at his wife’s idealism. Their radically different upbringings from different countries were showing. Dimitri knew he was a product of a feudalistic Crest heritage, where the Goddess stood as the Head of the Great Chain of Being of vassalage from King to Lord to Knight to freeman to peasant to serf to outlaws. His entire legitimacy of his claim as King of Fodlan rested upon his possession of the Crest of Blaidydd and his status as heir to Loog the Lion. Adopting or appointing an heir without that heritage would only invite bloody strife and civil war for the United Kingdom of Fodlan in the future unless he too produced a legitimate child of his own. It may take ten years, twenty, or a hundred. But it would come. Without a child of his loins, a succession crisis was all but inevitable.

Seeing Marianne start to frown at his expression, he told her instead, “That may be possible. But I would prefer it to be a remote one.” He reached out to hold her hand, rubbing his fingers over her wedding ring. “Nothing could make me happier than meeting our own child together.”

Smiling radiantly at that, Marianne got up and settled into his lap, hugging him and cradling his head. She whispered in his ear, “Oh, Dimitri. Of course we’ll keep trying. I wasn’t saying we should give up. You know that, right?”

“I know, love,” he whispered back, pulling her tight into his arms. “You were trying to be brave. To make me feel brave. But I don’t want to assume the worst just yet. I want to...keep trying.”

They held each other for a long moment, drying the occasional tear on each other’s hair, listening to the sound of each other’s breathing, communicating without words. Then Marianne surprised Dimitri by suddenly squirming in his lap, reaching down to hike her dress around her waist.

“Marie?”

She responded to his confusion by kissing him deeply.

He returned it eagerly, but broke off and said, “I have a meeting with the Dukes in an hour…”

“Then you’ll be late,” she whispered as she nibbled his ear. He shivered at sensation but she soon leaned back and looked into his eye, her face full of love and desire and desperation. “Today is a good day. Show me how hard you want to try, Dima.”

He carried his wife to the bed and showed her. She praised her husband every step of the way.

Dimitri was very late to his meeting.

* * *

“It’s almost time for Glenn to begin sword training,” said Duke Felix one afternoon as they jointly examined the budget for the Duchy of Faerghus the next year in the Small Council room. Sunlight from the setting sun streamed through the open windows; it turned dark early this far north in Fhirdiad. It was the 18th of Pegasus Moon, Imperial Year 1194.

King Dimitri didn’t look up from the numbers and sums on the pages in front of him. “Hmm, is that so?”

Felix closed his folio binder and drummed his rough fingers on the table. “Annette was against it. She thinks he’s more magically inclined, since he’s already such a good reader. I told her he could do both.”

Dimitri faintly nodded, his eye strained to the pages. “I’m sure of it. He takes after his parents.”

“Now that he’s old enough to take care of himself, Annette thinks she’s ready for another one. I think she’s hoping for Glenn to have a little sister,” continued Felix relentlessly.

“That would be nice.” Dimitri turned a page.

“I guess I wouldn’t mind another child in the family.” Felix’s fingers drummed repeatedly on the table. 

“Large families are nice.” Turn.

“Sylvain and his little hellcat are expecting.” Drum.

“Really? I must write them.” Turn.

“Ingrid’s youngest just turned a year old.” Drum.

“Time does fly.” Turn. 

“My birthday’s coming up.” Drum.

“Oh, right.” Turn.

“I’ll be 31. I’m exactly two months after you.” Drum.

“Hmm.” Turn.

“Yeah.” Drum.

The small meeting room was suddenly silent save for breathing. The shadows in the room lengthened.

Felix finally looked away. “We need to talk about this.”

Dimitri sighed explosively and leaned back in his chair, which cracked ominously. “Our private life is not your concern,” the King said directly, glaring at his oldest friend.

Felix stared back at him in honest amazement, then shook his head. “Shut up,” he said without heat. “You sound like an ass. It’s embarrassing to hear it coming from royalty.”

Dimitri flushed at insult, more so he knew Felix was right, but the coiled tension and yearning and fear within him needed to lash out. “I suppose Felix Fraldarius would know what an ass sounds like,” he sneered.

That brought the famous scowl back. “And you’re wallowing in the past again! Do even think about the future? Or do you spend half of every day wondering if the sun will come up tomorrow?”

“Of course I do!” shot back Dimitri.

“Then act like it!” declared Felix, but then he leaned forward. “Are you my King or not?”

The shift caught him off guard. “Yes, I think so, even if you don’t act like my Duke.”

“I act in response to your behavior,” Felix pointed out. “Right now you’re acting like a stubborn boar. Right now you’re only concerned about Dimitri and Marianne. You’re only acting in the best interests of Dimitri and Marianne. And no one would care if it were just that.” The Duke voice dropped an octave. “But you’re the King. Of all of Fodlan.”

Dimitri’s fists clenched on the table, and the muscles bunched in his jaw, unable to look at Felix.

“That means you have to do what’s right for Fodlan. You _ARE_ Fodlan. Even if…”

“It won’t come to that,” muttered Dimitri angrily, trying to calm his breathing and not break the table. He appreciated Felix’s concern, he truly did. Even if it did finally come through in their own childish, roundabout dynamic. “I love her. I won’t lose her, or abandon her. She’s my wife.”

“Dimitri?”

Both men looked up from the table to see Queen Marianne standing at the entrance of the room, another sheaf of parchments in her hand. She shook her head at their scene. “I’m sorry. Am I interrupting?”

“My Queen--”

“Marianne--”

“I thought not,” she said as she ignored them both, sweeping into the room. Her tiara and rich blue dress flashed in the sunshafts, and she carefully set the parchments between them. “These are addendums to the budget, based on my own estimates and projections from last year’s revenue. I think we could lower the military budget a bit more, even though Grand Marshal Catherine will howl.”

“She will,” Dimitri dumbly replied, off-balance by his wife’s poise. Felix was visibly tense and red in face, clearly aching for an excuse to be anywhere else. “Beloved...what Felix was saying…”

Marianne looked between the two nervous men, then sighed. “About the possibility of you divorcing me or having our marriage annulled?” she said plainly.

Dimitri was shocked. “Y-you know?”

Marianne shook her head at both of them almost in pity. “Boys. The girls have been writing to me about this for years. It’s old gossip at this point.” She stared at each of them again. “Is that what all this drama is about? And you’re just now realizing it?”

Felix grunted sourly, then said in a low tone, “I’m sorry, Marianne.”

She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be. Thank you for talking to Dimitri, Felix. He can be a little stubborn when he wants to be.” Felix snorted in response, although with a distinct sound of agreement.

“Besides,” Marianne continued, smiling as she rounded the table to kiss her husband on his forehead. “Didn’t you know that Dimitri and I already have children?”

Dimitri was bewildered, Felix only slightly less so. “We do?” the King asked slowly.

“Of course, silly,” said Marianne, giving him another quick peck. “Our children are Adrestia, Faerghus, and Leicester. They squabble a bit, as children do, but we’ll always do what’s best for them. We’ve worked so hard to raise them together, it would be a shame to abandon them now.” She gave both King and Duke another serene smile. “Now, please excuse me. I’m late for my tea appointment with Spymaster Shamir. I have to get to my parlor before she thinks I’m being deliberately rude. Remember to look over the addendums, Dimitri. Duke Felix.” With a graceful nod, Marianne exited the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Dimitri and Felix were silent in the room for a long moment. Felix was absolutely still, but Dimitri fidgeted restlessly.

The King abruptly stood. “I can no longer concentrate. Tea does sound delightful at this moment. I’ll have a scribe bring these papers to my study.”

Felix stood as well and rolled his eyes. “I’ll do it, boar. You’re still too foolish and trusting. This is valuable information, and you would entrust it to a servant’s hands? You’d be lucky to see the military budget ever again.”

“Felix…” Dimitri started. His oldest friend waved him off.

“Go join your wife, Dimitri. Cherish her. I know what she means to you.”

Dimitri smiled proudly, with a hint of sadness. “Then you must know that I will have no other. She is my soul. She is the light that banishes all my darkness. I will never leave her.”

Still gathering papers from the table, Felix simply nodded assent. Satisfied, Dimitri left the chamber.

The Duke Fraldarius finally collected every last loose sheaf under one arm. The sun had finally set, and the room was growing dim. “No. You won’t, will you?” he muttered to himself.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> So I had to break up this fic because someone gently convinced me that no one likes chapters of 15000 words. So I stopped here. I think there's one or two more chapters.
> 
> I'm now on twitter! I think? @telsiree. Remind me why I exist. I want to talk weeb trash for days.


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